


This Church of Mine may not be Recognised by Steeple

by tameimpala



Series: Crossfire [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Series, Protective Bobby Singer, Stanford Era, mentions of John Winchester - Freeform, mentions of Sam Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I don’t own a Winchester rifle on principle, you boys cause me enough trouble as it is."</i>
</p><p>In the wake of one of his father's particularly bad intoxicated episodes, Bobby Singer's Salvage yard offers Dean salvation from his battle wounds.</p><p>  <span class="small"><b>Deleted chapter from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3596544?view_full_work=true">The Boys Who didn't Fly</a> </b>-Set four months after Sam leaves for Stanford: Pre-series.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Church of Mine may not be Recognised by Steeple

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally meant to be a chapter in my fic [The Boys Who didn't Fly](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3596544?view_full_work=true). 
> 
> However it ended up stretching on too long and I replaced it with a chapter from Sam's point of view. The event's take place after Dean and John's fight during the flashback scene in [Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3596544/chapters/7933998). If you wanted to read it within that time frame I would suggest reading **The Boys who didn't fly** till the end of Chapter 2, then read this, then go back and read the rest. 
> 
> But I don't blame you if you don't have time for that :)  
> I feel like it works as a stand alone story as well.

* * * * * *

  
 

** Sioux Falls, South Dakota 2001 **

Dawn was just starting to break as Dean pulled into Singer’s Auto Salvage Yard, the rising sun bathing his surroundings in comforting orange. No Trespassing signs and wired fences outlined the perimeter of the land, but despite its unwelcoming appearance, Dean still felt safe amongst the broken rusty vehicles and the old house that had one point almost been like a base for the Winchesters. Not a home per say, but something very close to one- as close as Dean knew he would ever get. He sat and stared at the hubcap-adorned building as a sense of unease washed over his aching body. 

It had been four years since his father had tried to leave him here after those terrible two weeks when Sammy vanished, and John had consequently ended up looking down the barrel of Bobby’s 12 gauge Browning shotgun when he put 2 & 2 together and worked out the real reason why Dean was all beat to hell. Bobby was no fool, he knew the difference between marks inflicted by monsters and ones inflicted by humans. Although these days Dean thought that both he and his father were starting to have trouble seeing the difference between themselves and the things that they hunted.

But right now John was in his usual, and sadly unsurprising, whiskey-soaked comatose state back at their motel, so his father’s’ _‘calming’_ effect on Bobby wouldn’t result in another near-shooting. However that wasn’t what Dean was worried about. He was worried that Bobby would just simply turn him away- after all, they hadn’t really seen each other since other Dean was 18. 

Just as that thought crossed his mind Dean saw a moth-eaten curtain twitch in the front window and seconds later the front door was swung open, revealing a disgruntled Bobby and releasing a small Rottweiler who went running through the yard, barking at anything and everything.

True to his last words to John, Bobby was armed. The familiar double barrelled shotgun was aimed at the Impala.

“I’ve only got one bullet in here, so don’t think I’ll be firing any warning shots Winchester!,” Bobby shouted.

Dean slowly got out of the car and stared at the older man. There was a moment of silence before Bobby dropped his shotgun in shock and accidentally fired a round right beside him. 

The dog started barking and growling even louder as the sound of the gunshot ripped through Dean’s ears. He raced up the steps, despite his injuries, to his former surrogate uncle's side.

“Bobby!?! Are you okay?” They both looked down to see the hole in the faded wood that the shotgun had blasted, just inches away from Bobby’s right foot.

The experienced hunter brushed him off, “I’m fine ya idjit.” 

Dean let out a relieved laugh, “Always with the shotgun, you wanna try switching it up. Try a rifle maybe?”

“Yeah well I don’t own a Winchester rifle on principle, you boys cause me enough trouble as it is. Quit fussin’. I said I’m fine.” His glaze returned to Dean’s beaten in face and his amused smile dropped, “Which is more than I can say for you. My God Dean, what the hell did this to you? And…”

Bobby peered at the empty car.

“Where’s your father?” He asked in a low, monotone voice.

Dean looked down and started to study the splinters of broken wood at his feet.

“Is he..” 

“He’s alive.” Dean choked out quickly, answering the unfinished question.

Bobby looked at him with deep scrutiny for a few seconds before dawning realization crept in. Dean flinched as a gentle hand, one far too loving to come from a surly old man, turned his face softly to examine his darkening eye and the deep gash in his head. His eyes traced John’s drunken handy work and let out a hiss of anger.

“He’s gunna wish he wasn’t by the time I’m done with the son of a bitch. Where is his cowardly hide then?”

“In Garretson, passed out.”

“Three guesses what from.” Added Bobby sarcastically, though there was no humour in his voice. “Wait a second, you drove here all by yourself from Garretson? In the state you’re in?”

“I.. I had to get out of there Bobby.. I couldn’t…” The toll of the whole night was finally catching up with him, Dean’s vision swam and he clutched to the wooden railing for support.

“Hey- hey, let’s get you indoors and looked at kid.” Bobby’s hands closed round his shoulders and started to steer him inside.

“Rumsfeld!” He called to the dog, “Get your ass in the house! You’d think you’d never heard a gunshot before.”

  
 

 

* * * * * *

  
 

He felt himself being lowered onto Bobby’s sofa and breathed in the familiar smell of gun powder and Old Spice. Dean’s vision finally focused and he spotted Bobby rooting around in the kitchen, gathering things from various hidden compartments. A small whine came from below him and Dean looked down to see the little Rottweiler sniffing at his arm, the dog considered him for a second before gently licking his hanging hand. Dean smiled despite himself and stroked his head.

“Soft as hell that mutt.” Said Bobby as he set down his supplies and dragged a stool next to Dean.

“He’s not so bad... What happened to Aspin?” Dean asked, remembering the large Labrador Bobby had owned last time he saw him.

Bobby was busy threading a needle but he still answered Dean with a deadpan expression on his face, “Got mauled up by some monster, a year back.” He muttered.

“That’s a shame.” Replied Dean softly whilst Bobby moved closer to Dean’s head wound with his threaded needle, readying himself, “Sammy used to love…” Realizing what he had just said he cut himself off abruptly and froze up. Bobby’s hand stilled and withdrew. The thought of Sam burned through Dean’s chest like fire as images of his little brother chasing that brown dog around the salvage yard, slipping him scraps from his dinner under the table when he thought no one was looking and getting completely tackled by the dog whenever their Dad dumped them at Bobby’s flickered in his mind.

Lost in the once happy memories, it took Dean a second to register the look on the older hunter’s face. There was something there… Was it pity? Or understanding?

Dean shifted a little and stared at his sad, knowing face, “Bobby, do you know about… About Sam?”

He sighed and looked Dean squarely in the eye, “Yeah son, I heard.”

“Who from?” Dean asked, though it wasn’t important.

“That bible-bashing Jim Murphy.” 

“Huh.” Dean chuckled, “Figures. Sammy was his best student, Padre probably helped him bail out.” He was unable to keep the bitterness out of his mouth. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Pastor Jim had helped Sam apply to college…

  
 

_“My English teacher Mrs. Dixon, she said I could use her address for the applications” _

_Yeah right Sammy... Mrs. Dixon my ass. I saw the address._

  
 

He wasn’t angry at Jim though, he was actually pretty far from it. If Dean really was honest with himself ) _which he very rarely was_ ) he was jealous. Jealous that Sam had asked for help, actively sought a way out, when Dean had always accepted his fate so unequivocally. And what was even worse about his own situation was the fact that he was perpetually being punished for his choice, especially by the the one person he had stuck around for.

However Dean had never forgotten that look that Pastor Jim had given him when he had taken his father aside after the disaster of Fort Douglas, that look oh so similar to the ones that schoolteachers, motel workers and even Bobby just now had given him. A face etched with deep sympathy and concern. They all wanted to help him, but no one ever lifted a finger- mostly down to Dean’s constant insistence, backed up with a devilish smirk, that he was absolutely fine. But somewhere in his twisted gut he was pretty sure that Jim Murphy would have willingly helped him - perhaps even more so than he did for Sam.

“I wouldn’t know Dean.” Said Bobby eventually in a placating tone. Something told Dean he knew a lot more than he let on. “Come on now,” A calloused hand gently pushed him back into the worn sofa, “Let’s get you patched up first, if you can stay still for five friggin’ minutes.”

Bobby got to work on stitching up the deep cut in his hair line and picked out the splinters of glass embedded in his scalp that the bottle had left behind. The old hunter swore and muttered to himself angrily as he uncovered each injury, each one looking worse up close. Eventually, after Dean noticed the shade of red Bobby was turning, he opened his mouth to speak.

“He was out of his mind Bobby.” He murmured after Bobby let loose a string of insults after discovering the bruising littering his chest. 

“That’s no excuse and you know it boy.” He ground out through gritted teeth. The anger was gone in a flash though as Dean flinched hard and couldn’t help let loose a gasp of pain when Bobby pressed into his bruised ribs to check for breakage. His adopted Uncle (Dean tried to pinpoint just when he had grown out of saying _“Uncle Bobby”_ ) apologized softly and gave Dean some water and a fistful of little white pills.

“Novril. The good stuff.” Bobby said, gesturing to the pills. “Don’t get hooked.”

“Thanks.” Replied Dean. He swallowed two of the pills with a mouthful of water and pocketed the others. Bobby’s hands still prodded his chest for broken bones but the pain numbed, the drugs where obviously doing their work well and were sending a comforting feeling through his body, as if a heavy blanket was being laid over him. However the downside of the blissful growing sedation was that Dean felt himself drifting into the familiar pre-pass out haze that always managed to allow his inner thoughts to escape and reveal themselves to the lucky listener who sat close to him. Before he knew it, words fell out of his dry mouth on their own accord.

“It was different though,” Dean slurred a little, relaxing further into the cushion that had seemingly just arrived under his head, “He… He thought I was someone else. That I couldn’t have been _his_ Dean…”

“Hey, don’t ya worry about that now. Just rest.” Bobby’s concerned voice floated to him through the haze.

“No… I went out Bobby… I left. And when I came back Dad couldn’t- he couldn’t believe it was me… Thought I was a shifter… That the real me had left. Just like Sammy… Just like Mom…” Dean was shaking now, feeling the ghosts of crazed blows from his father’s hands that were adamant that what he was hitting wasn’t his son but a monster. Ghosts of steel capped boots flew into his stomach… He was 10 years old apologizing for leaving the motel room, he was 17 pleading that they had to find Sammy… He was every single disappointment and failure John had punished him for. Each phantom blow hit him harder and harder until they blended into one all-engulfing feeling of numbness.

Bobby’s calls were lost on him, he accepted the cloud of exhaustion, pain and drugs willingly and prayed for a dreamless sleep.

  
 

* * * * *

  
 

He watched the kid as his struggles grew still and he finally let sleep take him. Bobby Singer let out a relieved sigh as he placed a cool wet cloth on Dean’s clammy forehead and wiped away the sweat and blood, careful of his new stitches and busted, but not broken, nose. The 22 year old had suffered an all mighty beat down and Bobby didn’t give a flying fuck if John Winchester had believed Dean wasn’t his son or not, shooting the bastard just became item number one on his to do list. 

He swore to himself last time that if Dean ever turned up with a scratch on him again, he was hauling those two boys away from John even if it killed him. Bobby never got the chance though, John Winchester never brought Sam and Dean to him again after he threatened him with that shotgun. Now Sam had got out of the life on his own and he was proud of that little son of a bitch, the kid always had a sense of survival in him, that he’d do anything to get out. But as he looked down at Dean’s sleeping body he realized the price his escape had cost, and the damage he had left behind. Bobby had known that there was going to come a time where Dean would have to choose between his brother and father, he had just hoped that Dean would have made a different decision. _Couldn’t he see that things would never get better?…_ But of course he couldn’t. In his mind’s eye he saw his own mother, desperate to make everything perfect, to apologize for any wrong doing despite it never being her fault. She never acted grateful for putting that excuse of a father down himself, and now that he was older he could see that the love she had for him had kept her holding on, hoping for a change that would never come. 

_But it’s not an excuse, it’s not an excuse!!_ His mind heckled over and over again.

No. But it was a reason.

Dean was different to him though. He had Sam. Bobby knew how much those boys loved each other, and could only imagine how painful their last fight was. If Sam only knew what his brother had gone through…

It wasn’t his story to tell, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help.

  
 

Bobby took Dean’s cellphone from his pocket, checking the kid’s pulse whilst he was at it to make sure that he hadn’t overdosed on those pills. He scrolled through Dean’s contacts, noting that John hadn’t called, but to be fair it was 5:10 AM and he was probably still in his inebriated slumber. 

He found Sam’s number and hesitated. Maybe he wouldn't pick up the phone to his brother, he didn't know just how bad it had gotten when Sam left for Stanford, but it couldn't have been pretty. Bobby thought it might be better to call from his own phone. After all, wasn’t it easier to speak to an outside party?

Copying the number across to his landline he hesitated for a moment before he pressed call, then sat through eight endless rings before getting through to voicemail. He wasn’t really expecting to get through to Sam and was quite relieved that he could leave a message, he didn't think he was quite up for a conversation.

“…leave your message at the tone…” The beep rang through his body and he cleared his throat, suddenly his mind went blank.

““Hi erm Sam, it’s Bobby… Guess I must’ve missed ya, well actually it’s early so scratch that, you’re probably just sleepin’. I hope schools going alright for you son, it’s been a hard adjustment,” He glanced over to Dean’s sleeping form. “For all of you.”

“Listen Sam I know you’ve all said things you regret, an’ I know your daddy is as stubborn as a mule’s backside…” _And as worthless as one too,_ he thought to himself. 

“Don’t get me wrong boy I don’t want you to come crawling back into this mess of a life, you got out… But you don’t have to cut everyone out Sam, not everyone.” Dean was starting to twitch in his sleep and let out a small anguished cry, Bobby’s heart broke over the entire situation. He was so lost in thought for a second he forgot about the message and brought himself back with another clearing of his throat.

“Your brother’s here with me now,” He admitted, “an’ he’d love to hear from you- even if he won’t admit it. Just.. Just give him a call Sam…” 

“Take care of yourself kid.” Bobby hung up and set the phone back down on his desk.

  
 

He moved back over to the stool next to Dean and sat down, Bobby traced the tight lines around the boy’s eyes with his own causing a mask of deep concern to settle over his aged features. Dean's eyelids were screwed up securely, as if he was trying to block out whatever he was seeing in his restless dreams.

  
 

  
 

Rumsfeld came and settled next to him, licking Dean’s hand again and whining in sympathy.

“Soft mutt.” Bobby repeated fondly as he patted the dog’s head with annoyed affection.

He kept his other arm on the shotgun propped up against his seat, ready for any threat.

  
 

  
 

_Any threat at all._

  
 

* * * * *

  
 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> The title, just like _The Boys Who Didn't Fly_ comes from [ Playing With Fire by Brandon Flowers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtI2gDuGOjg).
> 
> As Rumsfeld is named after a secretary of defence I decided to call Bobby's previous dog 'Aspin' after one too (which fits in with the timeline of when they last saw Bobby)
> 
> Also Novril is not a real painkiller. It's the codeine-based drug that Annie Wilkes gives Paul Sheldon in **Misery**. Am I ever going to stop writing Stephen King references into everything I do? Only time will tell...


End file.
